Memory
by Kyone
Summary: The angst. Oh, the poorly written angst. Exactly 666 words long, because it's fun. Go read for that reason.


Memory

She came to his room cloaked in darkness, that which did not suit one so close to God. He saw her open the door, slip inside with what was not grace, but more a void where grace should have been, where the strange grace that she herself possessed was gone from for the moment.

It surprised him, that although he _saw _her enter, it seemed that she was at his side in an instant, yanking him up by the shoulders and pressing her lips to his. The contact was electric.

He didn't pull away, nor did he make any move at all, at once afraid and surprised. This point in time was when he first became really aware of her feminity, not just knowing it was there, but really knowing it was there, pulsing inside her. The contract.

She stopped then, pulling away from him, eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing. No tears. There hadn't been any tears in some time, he would have liked to say "too long for him to remember," but at his age, the only thing that was hard for him to remember was himself. Somehow, the knowledge that he would have to remember this particular incident was, in its own way, worse than the fact that he couldn't forget the deaths that he had caused.

Remembering how clumsy she was, even though her movements usually weren't. Remembering her eyes when she pulled away, all the depth and maturity of someone older than she would grow to be (though she did not know this yet). Remembering that, in that one instant, he hated her. It was brief, yes, but it was there. Like the stirring to eat the fruit of temptation. There, but at the same time, silent.

He had to look up to meet her eyes, and for a split second, he thought he saw tears there. He blinked, they were gone. "Chrno." Her voice was steady, and for this, he was thankful. Tears, sadness, vulnerability…none of these suited her at all. "Chrno," she pressed. "Say something, Chrno."

He couldn't say anything. As hard as he tried, he knew he didn't want to, for the words that came out might have been the truth. He did look young, gentle, but that wouldn't change what he was. A demon of the worst kind. And to be so close with a nun, of all people.

"Chrno!" She grabbed him again, and for a jolting instant, he was worried that she would hit him, or, (this being the worse of the two possibilities that he could prophesy), show him gentleness. He flinched back, and she let go instantly. "Chrno, listen to me, okay? Just…listen to me."

He was finally able to get past the lump in his throat. "What is it, Rosette?" He looked at the moonlight illuminating her golden strands, and almost fell in love. Almost.

"I'm not sorry. For what just happened." She refused to meet his gaze, instead choosing to stare at the wrinkles in the blanket. "Are you mad at me?"

"No." This wasn't a lie: he really felt nothing except a mild dislike for the girl, and even that was a soft pounding in the back of his head. "No, I'm not mad," he finished, running a shaky hand through soft violet hair.

She looked at him, sharp eyes appraising him. "Do you hate me, then?"

He met her gaze, as hard as he found it to be. He swept it downwards again as he responded, the lie slipping through his teeth easier than he had thought possible. "No. I don't hate you, Rosette. I could never hate you."

She seemed able to tell that he was lying, eyes becoming slits in the lack of glow. Light seemed to have trouble finding and banishing the darkness that had settled in there, causing her to appear older than she really was. "You lie."

"I don't hate you, Rosette. I could never hate you."

"But you do, Chrno."

* * *

10.25.05

Kyone

I actually typed this up exactly one month after I wrote it, and it served my purposes well. Oh yeah, it's 666 words. I had, like, a bunch of spaz attacks while writing this. Fell out of the chair a few times with uncontrollable laughter, but I do think I'm better now that I called a few friends and got it off my chest. I think I lost about five friends, but…

Wow, the author's notes sure have a different tone than the story itself. When I'm happy, I write stories like this, but when I'm sad, I write humor. Very strange indeed…


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